


Who wants to be a Shiro?

by mckinlily



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Everyone Loves Shiro, Gen, Shiro (Voltron)-centric, Shiro Birthday Week 2020, this man deserves all the love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:29:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22957204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mckinlily/pseuds/mckinlily
Summary: Between fighting a war, herding paladins, and piloting the Black Lion, Shiro has lost track of the days in space. But his team hasn't, and they're determined to make sure Shiro remembers. In the most ridiculous way possible.Or: It's the end of February, and for once Shiro is NOT flooded with six-year-old jokes.
Relationships: Allura & Coran & Hunk & Keith & Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt & Shiro, Shiro & Voltron Paladins
Comments: 10
Kudos: 77





	Who wants to be a Shiro?

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't get as much time to edit this as I'd like BUT! It is done! Happy birthday, Takashi Shirogane!

“Nice work, team,” says Shiro, slouching over the controls in the Black Lion, sweat dripping into his eyes. “I think that’s the last of them.”

“ _Finally_ ,” groans Lance. He yawns loud enough that his cracking jaw echoes through the coms. At the same time, Hunk lets out a long, extended moan.

“Don’t say that. Every time we say that, someone new shows up.”

“ _Hunk!_ ” protest both Keith and Pidge. Irritation and exhaustion pulse through the Lion bonds in Voltron like swells in a stormy sea.

“Hey, that’s enough,” sooths Shiro, fighting his own leaden thoughts. “No point fighting each other when we just finished with the Galra.”

He doesn’t blame his team the irritability: between a mission gone wrong, the frantic get away, a distress call, and running into a Galra warbird out of pure, dumb _luck_ , they have been fighting for more or less thirty-six hours straight. Even Shiro is feeling the strain, and everyone knows he doesn’t really sleep these days. But there seems to be something extra heightening their impatience today. Shiro can’t figure out what it is, but he’s felt it and it is perhaps a very good thing that they finally seemed to have caught a break 

Allura’s face appears on the display. Her hair is falling in tired wisps down her forehead—she’s been fighting as hard as any of them—but she still manages an air of command. “We are clear here as well,” she says.

“Only a few fires!” adds Coran, his mustache sticking up in all sorts of unlikely directions. “Perhaps two. Or five. Hardly a trifle.”

“Yes, well…” says Allura, looking sideways at Coran in a way that says she doesn’t share his assessment. But she draws herself up and doesn’t comment. “Come back to the Castle. We will wormhole to a safe location once you are on board.”

“Safe like this one?” grumbles Pidge, but it’s quiet, under her breath, an _attempt_ at being less acidic. Shiro choses to ignore it.

“All right, we don’t need Voltron anymore. Separate into your Lions and then head back to the Castle.”

Voltron dissolves. Normally, Shiro feels a sense of loss, a chill after four bright souls so close to his own, but today all he can feel is relief. Unlike the other Lions, Black does not have a limb to control, so it falls on Shiro to hold them all together, to pull the individual actions into a cohesive whole. Shiro is honored and humbled by the position, but he feels the strain after holding them for so long. Letting go of the bonds is like taking off a fifty pound backpack, and the relief is immediate.

Just before they completely let go, though, Shiro gets a pulse of the impatience and frustrated worry that has building among the others with increasing intensity over the past hours. Since Pidge pointed out they’d passed the Castle’s night cycle, actually.

Huh.

The feeling fades when they separate into individual Lions, but not Shiro’s concern.

There’s something he’s missing.

Shiro takes longer than usual leaving the Black Lion despite his best intentions. He’s as tired as any of them, and after so long, disengaging from his bond with Black feels like swimming through molasses. The result is that when he gets to the hallway, the others are already there. Lance is slumped against Hunk who is openly rubbing his eyes. Pidge is fiddling with her helmet, eyes unfocused, and Keith is standing in a way that suggests a slight breeze could knock him over. They all turn their attention to him when he walks in, like they’re ready to listen to his orders even if they’re about to kneel over.

Shiro doesn’t understand how he ended up with such a team, but he loves them with everything he has.

“We’ll debrief later,” he tells them because there’s mercy and affection in his soul. “Right now shower, eat, rest—whatever you need. You fought well today. We’ll go over the mission after everyone has a chance to recharge.”

“Oh thank goodness,” says Lance, slumping further against Hunk. “I don’t think I can words right now.”

"You’re ‘words’ right now,” gripes Keith.

Lance flutters a hand and mutters some kind of nonsense in response, but thankfully they’re both too tired to start a fight.

Pidge is still fiddling with her helmet. She looks around at the other younger paladins, avoiding Shiro’s gaze somewhat suspiciously. “Are we still going to do what we had planned?” she asks.

Well, that’s cryptic. Somehow, Shiro doesn’t think Pidge’s exhaustion entirely accounts for it.

“I donno,” says Hunk. “I mean, it kind of requires energy.”

“So we’re just not going to do it?” bursts out Keith. That’s surprising. Keith normally isn’t as involved in the others’ shenanigans.

“I didn’t say that! I just meant—”

Shiro puts his hand on Keith’s shoulder, and Keith nearly buckles. Shiro was right about him being ready to tip over.

“I don’t know what this is about, I’m sure it can wait,” interrupts Shiro. “Right now, you each need to take care of yourselves. This will keep.”

Shiro is met with four looks that he can’t really read. If he had to guess, he’d say they almost look…sad? Sympathetic? He’s not sure.

Then, in a surprising turn of events, Pidge, Hunk and Keith turn to Lance like they’re waiting for him to make the call.

Well, that’s new.

Lance’s jaw juts out stubbornly. “Of course, we’re still doing it,” he declares.

“Hey, no,” says Shiro. “I get whatever this is matters to you, but it’s not as important as your wellbeing. I don’t want you guys to forget to prioritize that.”

“We know that,” says Hunk softly, like he’s responding to more than just Shiro’s statement.

Keith turns under Shiro’s grip. “If we promise to take of ourselves first, will you stop fussing?”

Shiro raises his eyebrows, unimpressed.

“We’ll shower and nap and brush our teeth like good little kiddies,” promises Lance. “Don’t you worry. And there’s still time today, right?” he adds, talking more to the others than Shiro.

“I mean, time is pretty much arbitrary in space anyway,” says Pidge with a shrug.

"We can still do it,” Hunk says, looking particularly at Keith. “But Shiro is right: it will go better if we get a chance to recharge.”

“Oh, we are still _definitely_ doing this.” Lance yawns hugely and finally detaches himself from Hunk. He stretches and winces. “Okay. I’m heading for a shower before my sweat permanently attaches this suit to me.”

“Ew!”

“ _Lance._ ”

Pidge closes her eyes, swaying backwards. “I think I’m going to take a nap right here.”

“No, you’re not,” says Hunk. “You sweat more than Lance. If you fall asleep here, none us will be able to go near you for a week.”

Pidge cracks open one eye in protest, but Hunk just scoops her up like she weighs nothing and starts carrying her away. Pidge blinks once and then accepts being carried with a lackluster, “Meh.”

Well, none of that answers exactly _what_ the other paladins are up to which is typically a bad sign, but…Shiro’s tired too. It seems this will keep at bay for at least a little while. He’ll take it.

He squeezes Keith’s shoulder. “Rest up,” he says. “I know you’re probably still keyed up from the mission, but don’t spend too much time in the training room, okay?”

Not bothering to wait for an answer (Keith will probably just roll his eyes anyway), Shiro checks in with Allura that they are headed for a safe location and heads for the showers. Like everyone else, he’s absolutely gross. The muscles in his shoulders and back ache. From exertion, yes, but also the stress and strain of the last thirty-six hours. The idea of hot water sounds heavenly. And if that gives him a few minutes to remind himself they’re all here, they made it, everyone came home—

There’s footsteps behind him, and Shiro’s surprised to realize that instead of peeling off to decompress, Keith has hurried to catch up.

"Oh, hey. Something wrong?”

Not that he has a problem with Keith being here, but typically Keith needs space after a stressful mission unless he’s so wired he can’t come down on his own.

“No, not—” Keith pauses with an awkward half shrug. “Just, um… Have you looked at the calendar lately?”

Shiro frowns. Hunk and Pidge put together a calendar some time ago to attempt to keep track of the days since they left Earth, though with all the wormholes and space magic they both acknowledge it is probably an educated guess at best. Still, it gives them all a sense of time in a chaotic world, even if it sometimes has the result of making the paladins homesick.

“No, I haven’t. Not recently.” Shiro racks his brain. “Last time I looked…I think it was when Lance got us all to do Christmas. How long ago was that? Did we miss a holiday?”

Holidays and homesickness might at least explain some of the agitation he’s seen in his team.

“No,” says Keith. “It’s…it’s February.” He says that like it means something.

Shiro is tired enough to blurt out the first horrible thing he thinks of. “Lance isn’t trying to make us celebrate Valentine’s Day, is he?”

“No. We’ve past that,” says Keith.

Shiro does not exhale in relief because Shiro is professional and an Adult and is definitely not afraid of what would happen if Lance tried to introduce Valentine’s Day to Allura.

“You, uh, you really don’t know?” says Keith.

Shiro groans and pinches the bridge of his nose (maybe that Adult thing is actually a lie). “Keith,” he says. “I’m as tired as you are. If there’s something I’m missing, I’d appreciate it if you’d just tell me.”

“Oh. Sorry. No, you’re not missing anything. Um, today’s the last day of February.”

That takes a few seconds for that to click. And then—

“Keith. Did you tell the others about my birthday?”

"No!”

“ _Keith._ ”

Keith throws his hands up. “Lance already knew! He apparently collected trivia about your or something at the Garrison.”

“Well, that’s…comforting.”

“I just, uh, I wanted to give you a bit of warning. That the others know.”

“So prepare myself for the six year old jokes.” Shiro groans and runs his hand through his bangs only to immediately regret that. His hair is sticky and sweaty and _gross_. He can’t wait to get in a shower, especially if that means avoiding the most over-used, annoying joke of his life.

“They shouldn’t. I told them you would hate that,” says Keith, fiercely loyal, and Shiro is filled with affection. Not that Keith did anything but probably encourage them, but it’s nice to know he tried.

“It’s all right,” he says, ruffling Keith’s equally sweaty and gross hair. “I’ll deal. Thanks for the heads up.”

Keith attempts to put his hair to rights, like there’s any hope for it now. “I just figured it’s best not to just drop things on you.”

Yeah, Shiro’s new PTSD doesn’t play nice with new surprises, though it makes him uncomfortable how aware his team is of his mental problems.

“Thanks,” he tells Keith. “I appreciate it.”

Keith shrugs. He grips one arm above the elbow and shifts foot to foot a little. “And…” Feelings churn in Keith’s eyes, struggling to turn into words. “Last year, you weren’t around, and I thought I’d never see you again. I’m really glad you’re here now, and that you’re _here_. Not dead. So…” Keith twitched his shoulders. “Happy birthday.”

The words are awkward, but Shiro hears everything that Keith isn’t saying and pulls him into a hug.

“Thank you,” he says. “I’m really glad I’m here, too.”

Keith hugs him back and nods against his shoulder. But then he pulls back, nose wrinkled.

“You stink.”

“You aren’t exactly a picnic either, kiddo.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “We better head to the showers before Lance steals all the hot water.”

Alright, moment over.

Still, Shiro can’t help the small bubble warming his chest.

Even if he has six-year-old jokes from the rest of the team to look forward to. Damnit.

But by the time Shiro finishes his shower and changes into his civilian clothes, he’s completely forgotten about his birthday. He’s warm and clean and so, _so_ tired. His plan is to work through reading some Blades reports in the rec room, where he can hear the others moving around, assuring himself they’re alive and well, and he does but…

Shiro wakes with a start. He bolts upright, looking widely around. It’s impossible to tell how much time has passed. But the pattern of his heart is really more a jolt, nothing like panic. He’s still in the rec room. For once he fell asleep and woke up feeling _rested._

Well, that’s usual. As unusual as being able to stretch and _think_ when he wakes up. He spots the data pad he was reading from on the floor. Must have fallen at some point. Everything seems fine, so it takes him a few minutes to figure out what feels off.

Shiro strains his ears, but he can’t _hear_ anything. No muffled conversations, no distance movements. Shiro’s team is a lot of things, but quiet is not typically one of them. Automatically, his brain starts spinning worst case scenarios. Have they been captured? Injured? Did they leave him?

No. _Focus._ No use speculating without data. Shiro bends over to pick up the data pad, thinking he should at least check how long he was asleep, but as he does, he spots a note on the table next to him. “Note” is perhaps a little bit of a stretch: there are words on what a piece of scrape metal that seem to be laser-etched—Shiro makes mental note to wander by the lab soon and see exactly what Pidge and Hunk have cooked up and picks up the note.

_Meet us in the kitchen when you wake up. Don’t worry about any of the intel, we’ve got it covered._

Underneath that in a different hand is _No working!!_ followed by a hand-drawn angry face.

Shiro bites down a smile. Ah, so that’s it. Looks like he’s going to find out what the other paladins are up to after all.

Figuring there’s no point in keeping them waiting, Shiro gets off the couch, stretches until his back cracks (when did he get _old_ ) and then heads in search of the everyone.

He hears them before he sees them.

“…here he comes.”

"Shiro, get in position!”

“I already _am_. Don’t shove me!”

“I don’t think arguing is very Shiro-like of you, Shiro.”

…

_What?_

Officially curious, Shiro picks up his pace. He steps into the kitchen—and bursts out laughing.

“SURPRISE!” cry his team plus Allura and Coran.

Every single one of them is dressed in black shirts, vests, and pants _exactly_ matching his own.

“What— _how_ did this happen?” he manages through gasps.

“The Castle has a replicator,” shrugs Pidge. She has her bangs gathered into poofy ponytail at her forehead and somehow painted white. Keith also has a white streak in his bangs. Lance and Hunk both have some kind of white poof clipped into their hair, and Allura appears to have shifted all her hair black except the two locks that twist into a knot at the back of her head. Coran Shiro can’t begin to make out, but something that looks suspiciously a white version of his mustache is sitting on his forehead.

Each of them has a pink line drawn over their nose, and they’re all wearing one silver elbow-length glove—Wait, no. Those gloves are colored and patterned exactly after his arm. Pidge’s lights up with little pink lights when she waves.

Shiro cracks up again. They all look so _smug_ and stupidly proud of themselves.

“It’s your day today, Shiro,” says Lance, his voice fake-deep voice in a bad (at least Shiro hopes) imitation of Shiro’s Black Paladin voice. “We wanted to show you how much we appreciate you and the important role you play on our team.”

“Well put, Shiro.” Hunk nods along seriously, his lips twitching.

“Thank you, Shiro.”

“It was Lance’s idea,” says Keith only to be immediately shot down by the other three.

“ _Shiro’s_ idea!”

Shiro finds another laugh bubbling up with sheer disbelief. “Are you seriously all answering to Shiro?” he says, looking from one imitator to the next with some disbelief. “Isn’t that going to get confusing?”

“Nah, it’s all worked out,” says Lance, forgetting his “Shiro” voice in his excitement. “See, I’m Blue Shiro.” He gestures to Keith. “He’s Red Shiro—”

“Let me guess,” interrupts Pidge. “I’m Green Shiro and Hunk is Yellow Shiro?”

“Why do we always have to go by the Lion colors?” says Hunk. “What if someone wants to be orange or, I don’t know, lavender or something? Or burgundy. Burgundy is a nice color.”

“Do you want to be burgundy?” says Pidge.

“Oh no. I like yellow. I’m just saying.”

“I believe I will be chartreuse,” says Coran definitively like that settles the matter.

There’s a pause during which Shiro tries to process what he’s seeing. The sight of everyone dressed up as him and imitating him to at least some degree (he doesn’t think Keith is actually trying, but with his arms crossed over his chest and just silently observing, he’s not doing a bad job of it) makes him feel bizarrely like he sidestepped into an alternate reality. And yet it’s heart-warming in a definitively weird way.

“All right.” Shiro looks over all the versions of himself and chokes down another laugh. His eyes land on the one ‘Shiro’ they haven’t named yet. “So what do we call…?” he trails off, looking at Allura.

“Oh, huh,” says Pidge. “We didn’t think of that.”

“Princess Shiro?” offers Hunk.

But Allura’s nose wrinkles. “I don’t think I like that,” she says. “I don’t want to sound above the rest of you.”

“Spoken like a true Shiro,” intones Lance.

Shiro slowly grins, an idea forming. “You can be Black Shiro,” he offers to Allura. “If we’ve got so many Shiros around, I don’t need to be one.” His grin blooms into a full out smirk. “I think I’m going to be a paladin. I can kick back, disregard all common sense, and not listen to any of you.”

For a moment, it’s quiet, and Shiro’s starts to worry they missed that he’s joking. He’s about to rapidly backtrack when Pidge speaks up.

“You can do that,” she says simply.

“We would be happy to take the responsibly for you for an evening,” adds Allura far too sincerely for where Shiro thought the conversion was going.

“I want to see Shiro irresponsible,” grins Lance.

“No, you don’t,” says Keith, and Shiro sends him a glare for that. Keith just sends him the same smirk Shiro used to send _Keith_ when he was teasing him at the Garrison. Shiro takes it back: Keith’s imitation is definitely intentional.

Hunk digs around in his pocket and retrieves his orange headband. Shiro’s realizes he’s rarely seen Hunk without it, but now Hunk approaches him and gestures for Shiro to bend his head down.

“If you’re going to be us, you might as well look the part,” he says, smiling as he ties the headband on Shiro.

Shiro touches the headband, suddenly overwhelmed. He blinks rapidly and barely manages to keep his voice steady as he says, “As long as this doesn’t mean I’m cooking for us.”

He gets a bit of a pity laugh, and then Pidge is in front of him. “You can wear my glasses.”

Shiro takes them wordlessly while Pidge smiles at him. He knows the glasses were originally Matt’s, and irrational as it is, Shiro feels both touched and profoundly unworthy to be trusted with them.

“You two don’t get to be the only ones!” protests Lance, and Keith says, “We’re still the same size for shoes, right?” and that’s how Shiro ends up dressed in Hunk’s headband, Pidge’s glasses, Lance’s jacket, and Keith’s red boots (his toes cram a bit at the ends, but it’s worth it to be literally covered in his team’s affection).

“It is now time for the flaming ritual, correct?” says Coran with barely contained enthusiasm.

“Um.” Shiro has sudden flashbacks to their first days of training and feels his blood run cold.

“It’s fine,” says Keith, catching Shiro’s expression.

"Yeah, we just introduced Coran to birthday cakes,” says Pidge. “He…uh, _mostly_ got the idea.”

“I’ll make sure it all stays edible,” says Hunk, hurrying to the fridge to help Coran.

While Lance pulls Keith and Pidge into getting candles (or whatever in space qualifies as candles), Allura slides next to Shiro. He still can’t get over that she’s shifted the majority of her hair black. The “scar” over her nose is the same glimmering pink as the marks on her cheeks.

“I hope this is okay,” she says in an undertone. “Lance assured me it is done on Earth, and the others seemed quite eager to go along with it…”

“Well, I can’t say that everyone dressing up as one person is _common_ ,” says Shiro. “But it’s not unheard of. Do Alteans have birthdays?”

“We celebrate Naming Day,” says Allura thoughtfully. “From what others said, the concept is similar. It is the day you are officially recognized by Altea and receive your first _silica_.” She touches one of the marks on her cheek, and her voice grows wistful. Shiro doesn’t want her to sink in grief, especially when they are doing so much for him.

“When’s yours?” he prompts. “We can do this for you too.”

“You will imitate my clothing?” Allura sounds surprised and a bit doubtful.

Shiro puts a hand on his chest, channeling all he can of Lance. “What, you think I can’t pull off a dress?”

Allura chokes on a laugh, hand covering her grin, but her eyes trace Shiro’s form like she’s measuring him for a dress and isn’t disappointed in what she sees. Shiro feels his cheeks grow hot and casts around for a change in subject.

Fortunately, Allura beats him to it. Her gaze falls on her glove—or rather the silver, elbow length glove on her right hand. She’s wearing a fingerless glove on her other, and Shiro really has to be impressed with their attention to detail.

“Then you truly are unbothered by all of this?” Allura meets his eyes, hers full compassion and concern. “The others were quite insistent and of course they understand Earth culture much better than I, but I… I do not want you to think we are making light of things that should not be made light of.”

“Oh.” Shiro’s notices that at some point everyone in the room has stopped moving. They aren’t saying anything or even necessarily looking, but they are clearly listening.

And the thing is…yeah, Shiro should be bothered by it. In another context, he would absolutely _hate_ it. Even on a non Galra-affiliated planet, to see people dressed up in the marks from his year of torture—worse, marks he got for someone’s _entertainment_ —like it was some kind costume—

But that’s just it, isn’t it? For someone else, it would be a costume. But his team knows him. They’re not dressing up as Champion or even the Black Paladin; they’re imitating _Shiro_. And for them, the hair and the scar and the arm are simply as much signifiers of his look as his signature black.

It’s deeply humbling to see that his team has not cherry picked which parts of him to emulate: they chose _all_ of him. For them, there are no dirty, shame-stained parts to be avoided. The scars and damage his has are part of him, so they’ve included that without even questioning whether it should be and wear it with the same joy, affection, and even _admiration_ as everything else.

Maybe Shiro’s scars will never be able mean the same things to him, but it means more than he will ever be able to say to see this is how his team sees him.

“It’s…” Shiro’s voice comes out thick, and he has to get a grip before they entirely misinterpret him and he ruins the whole thing. “It’s fine.” He offers a smile that he hopes hides the heat inexplicitly building in his eyes. “I love it.”

“Does that mean we can dress up as Shiro all the time now?” says Lance, only to immediately take an elbow to the ribs. The gig’s up though, and it’s not like Shiro didn’t know they were listening the entire time.

Shiro raises his eyebrows. “Depends. Does that mean you’ll finally clean your room before it become a biohazard?”

“Is that really what being Shiro is?” complains Lance. “I was hoping more like badass punching aliens.”

“If I dress up as Shiro when he was at the Garrison, does that mean I can keep doing stupid things?” says Keith.

“You mean you’re _aware_ of how crazy you are?!” squawks Lance. “And you still do it!?”

“Personally, I’m starting to really wonder what Shiro was like as a cadet,” says Hunk.

“I really didn’t get into that much,” Shiro protests.

“You didn’t get _caught_ with that much,” grins Pidge. “You forget, I have a brother who used to live text the stupid crap you got into.”

Shiro groans loudly, partially because he knows that’s the reaction they’re looking for. “Well, my command was nice while it lasted.”

“I believe we are the ones in command today,” says Allura, her eyes kind and twinkling with mirth. “I think we can withstand some youthful indiscretions.”

“Whatever you did, it is nothing compared to what I got into!” adds Coran. “Why I remember this one time with King Alfor (although he was still Prince Alfor then) we had a hankering for _bungbeir_ —”

“CAKE TIME!” interrupts Hunk before they can get drawn into the rabbit hole of Coran’s stories. He produces a huge cake which—Shiro bursts out laughing again—looks like is supposed to be decorated in the shape of Shiro’s face but clearly without reference and all the colors are faintly green.

“It was Lance’s idea,” says Hunk, grinning sheepishly.

“Of course it was.”

“ _But_ …Keith definitely helped,” smirks Pidge.

Keith goes a brilliant shade of red. “ _Pidge!_ ” he hisses, rather higher pitched than usual.

“You did good, buddy,” says Shiro, hoping the way he can barely contain another laugh doesn’t ruin the effect.

“And now is the time we begin the ritual for good fortune, correct?” says Allura, clasping her hands and eyes gleaming. “You start with the numbered fires?”

As everyone gathers around, Shiro catches where this is going and stutters, “Oh, you guys really don’t have to sing—”

Lance gasps dramatically. “You _always_ have to sing!”

“It’s part of the _ritual_ , Shiro!” adds Pidge, her glasses glinting evilly.

“You don’t want to mess up the ritual, do you?” grins Keith.

Hunk has just started lighting the candles (shaped in a nice number six, damn them) and is humming “Happy Birthday” under his breath.

“Surely you would not want to avoid our well-wishes?” says Coran, and Shiro really can’t tell if he’s being had but the effect is the same.

So Shiro stands awkwardly as he is serenaded with an excessively enthusiastic and equally tone deaf rendition of “Happy Birthday” by his friends who are, every single one of them, dressed up like him because they are ridiculous and creative to the extreme and also never do anything halfway. And somehow, impossibly, they love him more than he ever thought possible.

As Shiro bends down to blow out the candles, his only wish is that they get exactly how much he loves them in return.

Somehow, he gets the feeling they already know.


End file.
